Well, I'm mostly physically recovered from my LEEP experience and haven't had much to write about when it comes to my physical health. Because I KNOW you're just ready to pounce on any post where I tell you gross details about my ailments, oh yeah.
I've discovered something new about myself as a mother these days. It appears that I'm a wimp. Or at least a wimp when it comes to transferring Essie from co-sleeping to sleeping on her own in a crib. I am truly bad at it. And the problem here is not Essie in any way, shape or form. No; it's me.
Ever since Ess came home from the hospital I've co-slept with her. It was easier for me to react to her quickly and it also afforded me a bit more sleep at night since when she needed fed I just had to grab her bottle off the dresser next to me instead of get up and go to another room to get her and feed her. It worked, even if it gave us less room in the bed, and we were all pretty happy.
Now I have to interrupt this story to tell another tiny one, but it's necessary. Essie and I are currently staying in Kingston at my mom's place and Andrew comes to stay on weekends. The apartment in Toronto was just not sufficient for Essie to have the space and freedom she needs as she gets more mobile, but we don't want to get locked into another rental agreement just yet, so this is the short-term solution. It's hard, yes, but Essie has already flourished so much in just the short time we've been here that we know it's the right thing.
OK, so Essie and I have still been co-sleeping here in Kingston but when Andrew is here the bed doesn't fit the three of us. Our bed in TO is a queen, this one is a double and I think even the queen would be too small at this point. Essie's a big girl now, around eighteen pounds and already longer than most babies at her actual age of nine months. She's way, waaaay out of the ballpark for her adjusted age of six months and is wearing clothes in nine to twelve-month sizes. She is not kidding around here.
The two of us fit comfortably in the bed, even if she does wiggle over to my side so she's pressed up against my back all night. It's cozy and warm and nice. But getting her to simmer down and go to sleep each night is becoming more and more difficult, so I figured that plus the weekend situation meant I had to transition her to sleeping on her own in the crib, and hopefully not needing me there while she falls asleep.
She's slept in her own bed a couple of times, but not truly all night long since it's pretty easy to just fall asleep with her after bringing her back to the big bed for a feeding during the weekend. This week I decided to get serious about it, finally, and yesterday I experimented by putting her down for a nap in the crib and just walking out of the room after tucking her in. To my great surprise she just drifted off to sleep like it was no big deal. She did that for her next nap, too! Wow.
When bedtime came, though, she was having none of it. I ended up snuggling her to sleep in the big bed and then putting her in the crib while she was asleep. And she slept there all night but I was a mess! I had nightmares all night long about leaving Essie alone in various places and finding out that she'd been screaming and crying the whole time because I'd abandoned her. We were sleeping in the same room but I felt like I was neglecting her or something.
I know I'm the one with the issues because this stuff isn't bothering Essie at all. My guess is that this is leftover angst from the time she spent in the NICU, when I had no choice but to leave her behind and go to sleep far away from her. Finally getting her home with me and being able to hold her in my arms as much as I wanted was a big deal and I felt like I should never, ever let her feel like I wasn't there for her.
So me = ridiculous wimp who feels like she's a mean mom for putting her baby in a crib at night. I'm sure I'll get over it eventually, especially when I can put her to bed for the night as easily as I can get her down for naps. That'll be pretty nice.
Showing posts with label pumping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pumping. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Caring more than I should.
At the infant massage class I talked about in the last entry all the other moms were breastfeeding their babies and we were the only couple bottle-feeding (with formula, no less.) I had some angsty pangs about that which irritated me since I've stressed to myself a million times that bottle-feeding Essie is NO BIG DEAL.
Well, apparently I didn't believe myself, but I think my issue is more with the opinions of other parents than it is with Essie or her health. Essie is obviously thriving, getting fatter and happier and healthier all the time. My angst stems from the fact that I feel like I may be looked down on for my 'choice'.
It wasn't much of a choice. Essie resisted breastfeeding very strongly. I was never happy with pumping at any point anyhow, and when my milk supply got harder and harder to maintain it got a lot easier to mix formula and bottle-feed her; something she was entirely content with. Instead of an agitated, unhappy baby at every feeding I had a happy, satisfied baby. It made sense to me.
I could explain that to anyone I suspect might be raising a mental brow at me when they see us bottle-feeding, but since I am a paranoid person at the best of times it's more likely that there are no mental brows and I'm being overly sensitive to perceived prejudice. While Essie was at the hospital, though, the pressure to breastfeed or at least pump breastmilk for bottle feeding was overt, and I've heard from other new moms that even with a regular, non-preemie birth there is still great pressure placed on them to breastfeed over anything else. So I do get anxious that the moms who have bought into it and think that anything less is wrong will be judging me when they see me with a bottle.
All that said, I was very aware of the fact that at the massage class Andrew was the only dad who also fed his baby, and I'm pretty sure he was the only dad who burped his baby (although I could be wrong on that one.) It's a positive about this bottle-feeding business that I'm appreciating more and more. It affords me more freedom, yes, but it also allows Andrew to bond with Essie and take on aspects of her care that he wouldn't otherwise be likely to. I love that when we're all in bed together she'll lay there quietly watching him for long, long stretches, just staring at him. He gets great smiles from her and she'll do all she can to catch his attention when he's absorbed in something.
So I guess I need to let go of feeling so self-conscious about not breastfeeding Ess. I am aware of so many positives as a result of bottle-feeding that it's just stupidly self-indulgent at this point to think it's any big deal, especially since it's having no adverse affects on the one it matters to most: our daughter.
Well, apparently I didn't believe myself, but I think my issue is more with the opinions of other parents than it is with Essie or her health. Essie is obviously thriving, getting fatter and happier and healthier all the time. My angst stems from the fact that I feel like I may be looked down on for my 'choice'.
It wasn't much of a choice. Essie resisted breastfeeding very strongly. I was never happy with pumping at any point anyhow, and when my milk supply got harder and harder to maintain it got a lot easier to mix formula and bottle-feed her; something she was entirely content with. Instead of an agitated, unhappy baby at every feeding I had a happy, satisfied baby. It made sense to me.
I could explain that to anyone I suspect might be raising a mental brow at me when they see us bottle-feeding, but since I am a paranoid person at the best of times it's more likely that there are no mental brows and I'm being overly sensitive to perceived prejudice. While Essie was at the hospital, though, the pressure to breastfeed or at least pump breastmilk for bottle feeding was overt, and I've heard from other new moms that even with a regular, non-preemie birth there is still great pressure placed on them to breastfeed over anything else. So I do get anxious that the moms who have bought into it and think that anything less is wrong will be judging me when they see me with a bottle.
All that said, I was very aware of the fact that at the massage class Andrew was the only dad who also fed his baby, and I'm pretty sure he was the only dad who burped his baby (although I could be wrong on that one.) It's a positive about this bottle-feeding business that I'm appreciating more and more. It affords me more freedom, yes, but it also allows Andrew to bond with Essie and take on aspects of her care that he wouldn't otherwise be likely to. I love that when we're all in bed together she'll lay there quietly watching him for long, long stretches, just staring at him. He gets great smiles from her and she'll do all she can to catch his attention when he's absorbed in something.
So I guess I need to let go of feeling so self-conscious about not breastfeeding Ess. I am aware of so many positives as a result of bottle-feeding that it's just stupidly self-indulgent at this point to think it's any big deal, especially since it's having no adverse affects on the one it matters to most: our daughter.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The baby has landed.
Essie's home now. She's been home since yesterday morning, and we 'roomed in' overnight on Friday night. The rooming in went pretty well all things considered, if you consider that taking care of our daughter was the first priority and sleep was definitely the second! We managed to grab a few hours of sleep each, but not much. Also, a real cold finally decided to hit me that very night. Not one of the 'oh, maybe I'm a cold, maybe I'm not' things that have been plaguing me since she was born. No; a real, no-kidding cold.
Coming home, though, was lovely. We rented a car for the weekend to make things a bit easier for the first couple of days and you should have seen us on the drive from the hospital. Giddy with happiness and love for our little family unit, thrilled to be united at last. Bringing her into the apartment was strange, strange strange and the reality hit pretty dang fast. Like any newborn, Essie's schedule is eat, sleep, diaper change, eat, sleep, diaper change, eat, sleep, diaper change. She goes approximately three hours between feeds, so my entire focus has been on following this schedule and grabbing sleep when she's sleeping (after I've expressed milk, maybe eaten some food, had something to drink, possibly gone to the washroom. I hear tell I might even have a shower someday!)
In a very unexpected development my girl has decided she wants NOTHING to do with my boobs. I'm not talking simply bare boob, here. I mean she seems to suddenly hate the nipple shield with a tiny grunty passion. Whenever I attempt it she gets furious and overwrought and finally I just get a bottle and bottle-feed her because girlfriend needs to eat! She still isn't latching on enough to eat without the nipple shield, so this is a project we'll have to revisit a little later on when things have settled down. She has her first pediatrician's appointment tomorrow and I'll be damned if I go in there with a baby that's lost weight.
In all honesty this last day has been extremely difficult. Even without the cold it would have been, I'm sure, but it's been rough. I've been feverish and coughing and sneezing and throwing up and even with Andrew's considerable help I've found myself wondering how this parenting thing can be manageable long term.
The answer, of course, is that it won't be like this long term and that every new parent goes through this sudden reality-check of actually having a baby to care for around the clock. I will get over this cold, she will gradually go longer between feedings over the months and then start sleeping through the night (hopefully; I'm not dumb enough to think that's any sort of guarantee!) She's going to change so fast and I'll find myself looking back and missing with everything in me the tiny, perfect being that she is in this very moment. I'm disappointed that I got sick for these first, formative days together because I'm already realizing that I hardly remember the many details of what the last 24-plus hours have been like.
What I will remember is how it felt to instinctively hold her near me when I'd crash out with her on the sofa during her sleeps. My own head spinning and sore and stuffed up, but all my senses focused on her breathing and how perfect her round little cheeks are. I'll also remember the painful reality that struck each time her hungry grunts would wake me up too soon from a desperately needed nap. There is no choice. Baby must eat, baby is our baby, we're the ones who have to sustain her. That's life, momma.
So I guess yet another chapter in this weird blog now begins. We'll see how regular my updates are now, but I guarantee I'll have a lot to share when I do!
Coming home, though, was lovely. We rented a car for the weekend to make things a bit easier for the first couple of days and you should have seen us on the drive from the hospital. Giddy with happiness and love for our little family unit, thrilled to be united at last. Bringing her into the apartment was strange, strange strange and the reality hit pretty dang fast. Like any newborn, Essie's schedule is eat, sleep, diaper change, eat, sleep, diaper change, eat, sleep, diaper change. She goes approximately three hours between feeds, so my entire focus has been on following this schedule and grabbing sleep when she's sleeping (after I've expressed milk, maybe eaten some food, had something to drink, possibly gone to the washroom. I hear tell I might even have a shower someday!)
In a very unexpected development my girl has decided she wants NOTHING to do with my boobs. I'm not talking simply bare boob, here. I mean she seems to suddenly hate the nipple shield with a tiny grunty passion. Whenever I attempt it she gets furious and overwrought and finally I just get a bottle and bottle-feed her because girlfriend needs to eat! She still isn't latching on enough to eat without the nipple shield, so this is a project we'll have to revisit a little later on when things have settled down. She has her first pediatrician's appointment tomorrow and I'll be damned if I go in there with a baby that's lost weight.
In all honesty this last day has been extremely difficult. Even without the cold it would have been, I'm sure, but it's been rough. I've been feverish and coughing and sneezing and throwing up and even with Andrew's considerable help I've found myself wondering how this parenting thing can be manageable long term.
The answer, of course, is that it won't be like this long term and that every new parent goes through this sudden reality-check of actually having a baby to care for around the clock. I will get over this cold, she will gradually go longer between feedings over the months and then start sleeping through the night (hopefully; I'm not dumb enough to think that's any sort of guarantee!) She's going to change so fast and I'll find myself looking back and missing with everything in me the tiny, perfect being that she is in this very moment. I'm disappointed that I got sick for these first, formative days together because I'm already realizing that I hardly remember the many details of what the last 24-plus hours have been like.
What I will remember is how it felt to instinctively hold her near me when I'd crash out with her on the sofa during her sleeps. My own head spinning and sore and stuffed up, but all my senses focused on her breathing and how perfect her round little cheeks are. I'll also remember the painful reality that struck each time her hungry grunts would wake me up too soon from a desperately needed nap. There is no choice. Baby must eat, baby is our baby, we're the ones who have to sustain her. That's life, momma.
So I guess yet another chapter in this weird blog now begins. We'll see how regular my updates are now, but I guarantee I'll have a lot to share when I do!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Glimpsing the bottom of the well.
I'm so thankful that I told the nurses that it was OK to bottle feed Shaughnessy. Since the night before last I've had a scratchy throat, sinus pain and an on-again, off-again slight fever. It doesn't feel all that serious but the presence of symptoms like this keeps me out of the nursery where my daughter still lives and that makes me very sad. Even worse it keeps me from breastfeeding my girl, but at least she's being bottle-fed which keeps up her practice at suck-and-swallow.
They did make some worried noises about how much breastmilk they have on hand and feel that they're running low. I wouldn't be overly concerned but my milk supply has decided to get less plentiful over the last week and I'm not quite sure why. If it does happen that they find themselves out at some point I'll give them permission to give her formula, but I'm hoping it doesn't come to that. She's never had formula and the sudden switch would probably give her gas for miles, not to mention worse constipation than the poor little bug already has.
Mostly it's a selfish worry, though. She's at what is considered full-term with regards to her gestational age. Drinking formula is pretty much a non-issue at this point. Being able to express milk for her and know that all of her sustenance came directly from me was a major source of comfort for me during the time when there wasn't anything more concrete I could do for her. I couldn't cuddle her, I couldn't comfort her, I couldn't even really touch her much, but by golly I could pump! Even if I hated physically doing it, I was glad to do something so maternal for her.
Now that I can hold her, interact with her and even breastfeed her directly it's not as emotionally necessary, but I'm still a bit freaked out. I didn't have to put much effort into keeping up my milk supply, and suddenly it is betraying me! The nurses at both hospitals were/are very pro-breastmilk and although they're not explicitly anti-formula (and I am decidedly NOT anti-formula) I have overheard disparaging comments about it. I don't want to be disparaged! I'm already paranoid enough about seeming like I'm not a good enough or caring enough parent.
Anyhow, it's just something new for me to freak out about and poke at with my brain. I'm stepping up my pumping/expressing a bit to try to stimulate more milk production but if anything I've seemed to be getting even less as a result. I do not know what this is all about. What up, boobs. I'll have to chat with the lactation consultant at St. Mike's, someone I have not yet met. Reports to follow on whether she is terrifying.
They did make some worried noises about how much breastmilk they have on hand and feel that they're running low. I wouldn't be overly concerned but my milk supply has decided to get less plentiful over the last week and I'm not quite sure why. If it does happen that they find themselves out at some point I'll give them permission to give her formula, but I'm hoping it doesn't come to that. She's never had formula and the sudden switch would probably give her gas for miles, not to mention worse constipation than the poor little bug already has.
Mostly it's a selfish worry, though. She's at what is considered full-term with regards to her gestational age. Drinking formula is pretty much a non-issue at this point. Being able to express milk for her and know that all of her sustenance came directly from me was a major source of comfort for me during the time when there wasn't anything more concrete I could do for her. I couldn't cuddle her, I couldn't comfort her, I couldn't even really touch her much, but by golly I could pump! Even if I hated physically doing it, I was glad to do something so maternal for her.
Now that I can hold her, interact with her and even breastfeed her directly it's not as emotionally necessary, but I'm still a bit freaked out. I didn't have to put much effort into keeping up my milk supply, and suddenly it is betraying me! The nurses at both hospitals were/are very pro-breastmilk and although they're not explicitly anti-formula (and I am decidedly NOT anti-formula) I have overheard disparaging comments about it. I don't want to be disparaged! I'm already paranoid enough about seeming like I'm not a good enough or caring enough parent.
Anyhow, it's just something new for me to freak out about and poke at with my brain. I'm stepping up my pumping/expressing a bit to try to stimulate more milk production but if anything I've seemed to be getting even less as a result. I do not know what this is all about. What up, boobs. I'll have to chat with the lactation consultant at St. Mike's, someone I have not yet met. Reports to follow on whether she is terrifying.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Suckle THIS, smartypants!
Since I'd gone in earlier in the day I called the nursery at around midnight last night to check on Ms. S before going to bed. The call went really well until the end, when things degenerated for me. Here's how it went.
NURSE: She wants to suckle.
ME: Oh, I know. We had a great session with the lactation consultant today. She's really getting it.
NURSE: No, she needs to do it more than that!
ME: Well, I try to do it every day. It doesn't always work out.
NURSE: Every day! More times a day! If you don't she won't nurse later on. She won't know how!
ME: (Getting a bit defensive.) She had an eye exam today. She was too exhausted for more than the once.*
NURSE: Well she really needs to learn this. More times a day!
Now I am all agitated by the thought that due to my negligence my daughter will never really learn to nurse, even though that's bullshit of the highest order and we'd made real progress earlier in the day. I was feeling great about it, really encouraged by the experience and glad that the lactation consultant had helped me out so much and now I am trying to hang on to that and not feel like I'm failing her in some way.
To me the true point is not that she's breastfeeding, even if I've talked a lot about how much I want to be able to do so with her. The truly important thing is that she's getting my breastmilk and the how of it getting inside her is secondary. If she never takes to nursing and we have to bottle-feed her while I continue to pump then that's how it'll be. Ideally I want her to do both so that Andrew can also feed her and so that we can bottle-feed her when it's less convenient to nurse. I am not stuck on her ONLY breastfeeding and nothing else. I think it would be irrational to feel that way, and potentially crazy-making. I don't want to set myself and Shaughnessy up for disappointment and difficulty. I just want to do what works best and makes us both comfortable
I am doing my reading on all this, believe me, and even if it takes time the majority of babies, preemie or otherwise, figure it out and end up doing fine on only nursing, or a combination of both. I wasn't even planning to breastfeed in the first place and had fully expected to formula-feed her with bottles but the fact of her prematurity threw a wrench into those plans. So, this has been a pretty major adjustment of expectations for me and that's probably why I'm pretty flexible about the idea of bottle vs. breast since either is a vehicle for her to drink my breastmilk. She'll be in my arms, alive, not dead due to undiagnosed preeclampsia. I'd rather wake up every day happy about those things than stress out about whether she'll be a perfect breastfeeder!
* The eye exams that the doctors do to check for ROP are very traumatizing and uncomfortable for the babies, so after they have them they're usually very exhausted and out of it for the rest of the day. They tend to sleep more and be more fussy when awake, so things like lick and sniffs aren't usually all that successful.
NURSE: She wants to suckle.
ME: Oh, I know. We had a great session with the lactation consultant today. She's really getting it.
NURSE: No, she needs to do it more than that!
ME: Well, I try to do it every day. It doesn't always work out.
NURSE: Every day! More times a day! If you don't she won't nurse later on. She won't know how!
ME: (Getting a bit defensive.) She had an eye exam today. She was too exhausted for more than the once.*
NURSE: Well she really needs to learn this. More times a day!
Now I am all agitated by the thought that due to my negligence my daughter will never really learn to nurse, even though that's bullshit of the highest order and we'd made real progress earlier in the day. I was feeling great about it, really encouraged by the experience and glad that the lactation consultant had helped me out so much and now I am trying to hang on to that and not feel like I'm failing her in some way.
To me the true point is not that she's breastfeeding, even if I've talked a lot about how much I want to be able to do so with her. The truly important thing is that she's getting my breastmilk and the how of it getting inside her is secondary. If she never takes to nursing and we have to bottle-feed her while I continue to pump then that's how it'll be. Ideally I want her to do both so that Andrew can also feed her and so that we can bottle-feed her when it's less convenient to nurse. I am not stuck on her ONLY breastfeeding and nothing else. I think it would be irrational to feel that way, and potentially crazy-making. I don't want to set myself and Shaughnessy up for disappointment and difficulty. I just want to do what works best and makes us both comfortable
I am doing my reading on all this, believe me, and even if it takes time the majority of babies, preemie or otherwise, figure it out and end up doing fine on only nursing, or a combination of both. I wasn't even planning to breastfeed in the first place and had fully expected to formula-feed her with bottles but the fact of her prematurity threw a wrench into those plans. So, this has been a pretty major adjustment of expectations for me and that's probably why I'm pretty flexible about the idea of bottle vs. breast since either is a vehicle for her to drink my breastmilk. She'll be in my arms, alive, not dead due to undiagnosed preeclampsia. I'd rather wake up every day happy about those things than stress out about whether she'll be a perfect breastfeeder!
* The eye exams that the doctors do to check for ROP are very traumatizing and uncomfortable for the babies, so after they have them they're usually very exhausted and out of it for the rest of the day. They tend to sleep more and be more fussy when awake, so things like lick and sniffs aren't usually all that successful.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Because the Lactation Consultant still scares me ...
Aaargh I bought a pump. I bought a Medela pump, even, which is the company that makes the hospital grade pump I've been using. I was going to buy one pump in particular but it was just way expensive so when we got to the pump-buying place I saw another cheaper one by the same company and bought it on faith, which is sometimes a bad bad thing but I do think they make good pumps so risked it.
It's a good pump. Really strong suction, lots of milk pumped, and risk of injury if I use it on the highest setting (which I found out the hard way [please don't ask.]) It has an electric setting, a hand pump mechanism and will also use batteries if you're somewhere without access to an outlet. The hand pump works so well that I almost prefer it to the electric, but mostly because it's much quieter. This pump is pretty loud compared to the hospital-grade pumps.
Holy crap, the word 'pump' is just meaningless to me after reading the last couple of paragraphs.
Anyhow, I still intend to hand-express lots and this pump isn't meant to be used for all your pumping. I got it to make sure I get my hind milk outta there for the kid, and also to use if I get mastitis and want to really make sure I empty the girls out. I haven't had any mastitis problems since switching to hand expressing, though, so hopefully that will continue to not be an issue.
Shaughnessy is doing really well. The level 2 nursery is agreeing with her and she's being her usual talkative self. Her nurse last night joked that Shaughnessy almost doesn't need to be hooked up to the monitors since she can tell from the other room what's going on with her based on how much and how loud she's grunting away. It's very true. That girl knows how to express herself.
The CPAP seems to officially be a thing of the past! I was cautious about believing it, but unless she gets sick she won't need it again. If she comes down with an infection or something she might need the help since she'll be weaker and having to put her energy toward fighting it off. Right now, though, she's breathing on her own and doing it well!
She's had two 'lick and sniffs' at this point. That's basically breastfeeding orientation for preemies, where she's put in the breastfeeding position but not expected to do much except hang out there. She's got the rooting reflex down, she knows how to suck (as evidenced by her enjoyment of her soother) but she has to start learning how to put it all together and figure out how to swallow while still breathing as well. So far she's been opening her mouth really, really wide but not actually latching on as a next step. Then she falls asleep. Hee.
I just like the opportunity to hold her even more, but it's encouraging to see that she has the basics and will probably figure it out in a couple of weeks. Preemies usually start to 'get it' by about 35 weeks gestational age and she's nearly there.
Overall I try not to have too many expectations. The fact that she's alive and already asserting her personality is enough to impress the hell out of me.
It's a good pump. Really strong suction, lots of milk pumped, and risk of injury if I use it on the highest setting (which I found out the hard way [please don't ask.]) It has an electric setting, a hand pump mechanism and will also use batteries if you're somewhere without access to an outlet. The hand pump works so well that I almost prefer it to the electric, but mostly because it's much quieter. This pump is pretty loud compared to the hospital-grade pumps.
Holy crap, the word 'pump' is just meaningless to me after reading the last couple of paragraphs.
Anyhow, I still intend to hand-express lots and this pump isn't meant to be used for all your pumping. I got it to make sure I get my hind milk outta there for the kid, and also to use if I get mastitis and want to really make sure I empty the girls out. I haven't had any mastitis problems since switching to hand expressing, though, so hopefully that will continue to not be an issue.
Shaughnessy is doing really well. The level 2 nursery is agreeing with her and she's being her usual talkative self. Her nurse last night joked that Shaughnessy almost doesn't need to be hooked up to the monitors since she can tell from the other room what's going on with her based on how much and how loud she's grunting away. It's very true. That girl knows how to express herself.
The CPAP seems to officially be a thing of the past! I was cautious about believing it, but unless she gets sick she won't need it again. If she comes down with an infection or something she might need the help since she'll be weaker and having to put her energy toward fighting it off. Right now, though, she's breathing on her own and doing it well!
She's had two 'lick and sniffs' at this point. That's basically breastfeeding orientation for preemies, where she's put in the breastfeeding position but not expected to do much except hang out there. She's got the rooting reflex down, she knows how to suck (as evidenced by her enjoyment of her soother) but she has to start learning how to put it all together and figure out how to swallow while still breathing as well. So far she's been opening her mouth really, really wide but not actually latching on as a next step. Then she falls asleep. Hee.
I just like the opportunity to hold her even more, but it's encouraging to see that she has the basics and will probably figure it out in a couple of weeks. Preemies usually start to 'get it' by about 35 weeks gestational age and she's nearly there.
Overall I try not to have too many expectations. The fact that she's alive and already asserting her personality is enough to impress the hell out of me.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
I didn't say 'nipples' once!
So, the battle of the breast pump has been ongoing. The battle is all in my head, really, but I continue to hate pumping like cats hate water. Cats can swim, see, and I can pump. I just don't like it. *hiss*
What I hate about it is the stupid ceremony of it all. Sterilizing the bottles and bits, drying them out, assembling them, hooking up the tubes to the machine, hooking up the machine to the bottles, attaching them to myself, pumping, emptying the bottles into the milk containers, labeling them, rinsing out the bottles and bits and setting them out for later, putting away the tubes and labels and putting away the machine. When you're nursing you just stick the baby on your breast. You don't boil either of them first.
Sigh.
I'd been intending to learn to hand express. I'd read about it a bit and thought it sounded like a good idea in case I ever found myself without a breast pump around and needed to express. After reading about it even more, though, it sounded like something that I could possibly do as a substitute for using the machine. It's supposed to be good for mastitis and also produce more milk than pumping, something I'm interested in because I'm a bit stressed about providing enough milk. So, I've tried it a few times and tonight I was able to hand express instead of pumping altogether!
Woot indeed, because it knocks out a ton of the annoying steps from the pumping ceremony and I can express straight into the collecting containers instead of having to sterilize anything. All I have to have is clean hands and then I label the container and stick it in the fridge. Pretty sweet.
Also I am still nervous about the lactation consultant cornering me in the NICU and asking me all kinds of questions. Yesterday I was sitting beside Shaughnessy's incubator and the LC was helping a mom with nursing her preemie for the first time. I was glad she was otherwise occupied, but when Shaughnessy's nurse noticed the LC she asked me if I had any breastfeeding questions or anything. I was all, "NO, I'M FINE, MY SUPPLY IS FINE, IT'S ALL FINE, THANKS VERY MUCH!"
Instead of taking the hint she went over to the LC, who was finished with the other mom and washing her hands at the sink, and said, "I have a mom over here you might want to chat with and see if she has any questions."
I told Andrew today that when this kind of thing goes down my instincts are all, "Cheese it, it's the Lactation Consultant!" I didn't run away, scramble or flee; I just gritted my teeth and tried to make it quick by being all immediately confident about my milk supply. She went ahead and quizzed me about how many times a day I pump and how much I think I produce each time. I exaggerated a bit, but then she wrote it down! So now my exaggerations are recorded and I could be caught in my exaggerations at a future date. Dang it.
I just don't want to talk about my boobs to people (who don't read this weblog, I guess.) My boobs are private boobs and I will not let my daughter starve! My hope is that Shaughnessy will take to breast feeding fairly easily and I can put this pumping jazz behind us. In the meantime I can at least alternate hand expressing with machine pumping to make it a bit less irritating!
What I hate about it is the stupid ceremony of it all. Sterilizing the bottles and bits, drying them out, assembling them, hooking up the tubes to the machine, hooking up the machine to the bottles, attaching them to myself, pumping, emptying the bottles into the milk containers, labeling them, rinsing out the bottles and bits and setting them out for later, putting away the tubes and labels and putting away the machine. When you're nursing you just stick the baby on your breast. You don't boil either of them first.
Sigh.
I'd been intending to learn to hand express. I'd read about it a bit and thought it sounded like a good idea in case I ever found myself without a breast pump around and needed to express. After reading about it even more, though, it sounded like something that I could possibly do as a substitute for using the machine. It's supposed to be good for mastitis and also produce more milk than pumping, something I'm interested in because I'm a bit stressed about providing enough milk. So, I've tried it a few times and tonight I was able to hand express instead of pumping altogether!
Woot indeed, because it knocks out a ton of the annoying steps from the pumping ceremony and I can express straight into the collecting containers instead of having to sterilize anything. All I have to have is clean hands and then I label the container and stick it in the fridge. Pretty sweet.
Also I am still nervous about the lactation consultant cornering me in the NICU and asking me all kinds of questions. Yesterday I was sitting beside Shaughnessy's incubator and the LC was helping a mom with nursing her preemie for the first time. I was glad she was otherwise occupied, but when Shaughnessy's nurse noticed the LC she asked me if I had any breastfeeding questions or anything. I was all, "NO, I'M FINE, MY SUPPLY IS FINE, IT'S ALL FINE, THANKS VERY MUCH!"
Instead of taking the hint she went over to the LC, who was finished with the other mom and washing her hands at the sink, and said, "I have a mom over here you might want to chat with and see if she has any questions."
I told Andrew today that when this kind of thing goes down my instincts are all, "Cheese it, it's the Lactation Consultant!" I didn't run away, scramble or flee; I just gritted my teeth and tried to make it quick by being all immediately confident about my milk supply. She went ahead and quizzed me about how many times a day I pump and how much I think I produce each time. I exaggerated a bit, but then she wrote it down! So now my exaggerations are recorded and I could be caught in my exaggerations at a future date. Dang it.
I just don't want to talk about my boobs to people (who don't read this weblog, I guess.) My boobs are private boobs and I will not let my daughter starve! My hope is that Shaughnessy will take to breast feeding fairly easily and I can put this pumping jazz behind us. In the meantime I can at least alternate hand expressing with machine pumping to make it a bit less irritating!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Learning the preemie ropes.
I had an appointment with my blood pressure doctor this morning so went to visit Shaughnessy in the NICU right afterward. Her nurse today is a really nice, sweet woman who's had her a couple of times before, but she informed me this morning that she'd finally seen what the other nurses mean when they say our daughter has 'an attitude'. I can't recall what she said she'd done to make her angry, but apparently Shaughnessy had herself a right little fit over it and showed her what she's made of.
I know I should be more worried for my future than amused by that, but to know that she doesn't put up with crap warms my heart and makes me laugh. If she was crabby about everything I think I'd be more alarmed at what the future holds, but she's really not. In fact, she's downright peaceful most of the time and I've only personally witnessed her getting angry a couple of times myself. Sneezing made her really mad the first time we did Kangaroo Care, and when she was first born she didn't really like being handled much so had some mini meltdowns, but honestly when I go in to see her she's always just very peacefully sleeping or blinking.
I don't think I've mentioned Kangaroo Care here. That's when they place your baby right against your skin and you have about an hour-long snuggle session with her. I've only done it twice so far, but man, does it feel nice. This last time she was super-content and just cuddled on my chest, moving her fingers on my skin and holding on to the tie from the hospital gown. She had the hiccups when they first put her on me and man, preemie hiccups are about the cutest hiccups in the universe. They are hiccups, but the tiniest hiccups you have ever heard.
I've been changing her diaper and getting better at it. The first time I changed her diaper was a shock because I wasn't prepared for how different it is to change a preemie's butt. I've changed countless diapers in my time what with all the teenage babysitting and nieces and nephews. Diaper-changing was something I wasn't worried about since I know how to do it, so it was a blow to find out I kind of had to re-learn the art. I keep telling people that changing Shaughnessy's diaper for the first time was like changing a bullfrog. She has these skinny, kicky little legs, no butt and a teeny little waist. The nurse told me to do the diaper up tighter than I thought I had to but it's hard to do that when you're so afraid of breaking your miniature baby.
Anyhow, I'm much more confident now but today I got a poop diaper. She'd spared me that up until now and I finally lost the diaper lottery. Not that her poop is all that hard to deal with. A big poop for her is still a teeny poop in the realm of pooping. One of my favourite things to do, though, is wipe her face. All we use to do that is a clean bit of gauze and sterile water, so when I'm cleaning her mouth she gets really still and thoughtful and seems to be trying to figure out what exactly is going on. It's little moments like these when I feel like I'm connecting with her a bit, since she opens up her eyes a lot during handling time.
Right now the only thing I'm really concerned about is the IV burn she got. It wasn't looking good yesterday so they changed the ointment they were using and this morning were talking about having a plastic surgeon look at it. While I was in today, though, they reassessed it and seem to think it's healing better. I got my first look at it and it's nasty-looking, but I can't really bring myself to be angry at anyone or the hospital. Veins can go interstitial, especially so with preemies, and these things happen. I HATE that it happened to Shaughnessy and I'm still nervous that it'll turn into a bad infection, but for now it's being treated and she doesn't seem to be in any pain or distress over it.
I did get in trouble from the lactation consultant today. I'm still producing lots of milk, but they want me to pump more times a day. Dang it.
I know I should be more worried for my future than amused by that, but to know that she doesn't put up with crap warms my heart and makes me laugh. If she was crabby about everything I think I'd be more alarmed at what the future holds, but she's really not. In fact, she's downright peaceful most of the time and I've only personally witnessed her getting angry a couple of times myself. Sneezing made her really mad the first time we did Kangaroo Care, and when she was first born she didn't really like being handled much so had some mini meltdowns, but honestly when I go in to see her she's always just very peacefully sleeping or blinking.
I don't think I've mentioned Kangaroo Care here. That's when they place your baby right against your skin and you have about an hour-long snuggle session with her. I've only done it twice so far, but man, does it feel nice. This last time she was super-content and just cuddled on my chest, moving her fingers on my skin and holding on to the tie from the hospital gown. She had the hiccups when they first put her on me and man, preemie hiccups are about the cutest hiccups in the universe. They are hiccups, but the tiniest hiccups you have ever heard.
I've been changing her diaper and getting better at it. The first time I changed her diaper was a shock because I wasn't prepared for how different it is to change a preemie's butt. I've changed countless diapers in my time what with all the teenage babysitting and nieces and nephews. Diaper-changing was something I wasn't worried about since I know how to do it, so it was a blow to find out I kind of had to re-learn the art. I keep telling people that changing Shaughnessy's diaper for the first time was like changing a bullfrog. She has these skinny, kicky little legs, no butt and a teeny little waist. The nurse told me to do the diaper up tighter than I thought I had to but it's hard to do that when you're so afraid of breaking your miniature baby.
Anyhow, I'm much more confident now but today I got a poop diaper. She'd spared me that up until now and I finally lost the diaper lottery. Not that her poop is all that hard to deal with. A big poop for her is still a teeny poop in the realm of pooping. One of my favourite things to do, though, is wipe her face. All we use to do that is a clean bit of gauze and sterile water, so when I'm cleaning her mouth she gets really still and thoughtful and seems to be trying to figure out what exactly is going on. It's little moments like these when I feel like I'm connecting with her a bit, since she opens up her eyes a lot during handling time.
Right now the only thing I'm really concerned about is the IV burn she got. It wasn't looking good yesterday so they changed the ointment they were using and this morning were talking about having a plastic surgeon look at it. While I was in today, though, they reassessed it and seem to think it's healing better. I got my first look at it and it's nasty-looking, but I can't really bring myself to be angry at anyone or the hospital. Veins can go interstitial, especially so with preemies, and these things happen. I HATE that it happened to Shaughnessy and I'm still nervous that it'll turn into a bad infection, but for now it's being treated and she doesn't seem to be in any pain or distress over it.
I did get in trouble from the lactation consultant today. I'm still producing lots of milk, but they want me to pump more times a day. Dang it.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Hey, let's talk about my chesteses.
So far this mom thing is really bizarre for me. Obviously nothing happened as planned or expected, so I'm kind of swimming in the deep end with regard to exactly how I'm supposed to be feeling or acting. Mostly I just give myself permission to feel however I happen to because what's right or wrong in this situation?
Now that I'm out of the hospital and back home I'm spending most of my time pumping breast milk, preparing to pump breast milk or figuring out when to next pump breast milk. I HATE pumping breast milk. Really, really do. It's so detached and impersonal to sit there attached by the boobs to a machine for twenty minutes at a time and stare into space while waiting for it to end. The type of breast pump the hospital sends you home with is called a double electric, meaning you pump both boobs at once with great, electricity-fueled force. This is nice and efficient, yes, but also extremely limiting as you have to hold the contraption in place with your hands. So I sit there, like a bored dairy cow, and stare around while enduring the least sexy form of nipple torture ever.
The cats are intrigued, of course. Mong sits a small distance away and just watches kind of askance, not really approving of the process. Shelley, unsurprisingly, is much more scientifically interested in the whole thing and wants to get right in my lap and watch up close. Because my range of movement is extremely limited I am reduced to doing a kind of chicken wing flap with my occupied arms to try to dissuade him, or draw one knee up to make my lap less inviting. He is not easily dissuaded and will eventually park himself up against my leg if he can't get in my lap, watching in a very intent and discomfiting manner what is going on with my poor, poor nipples.
Nipples, nipples, nipples. I never really thought I'd end up talking much about one of my MOST PRIVATE body parts in this blog because I wasn't planning to breastfeed. Since Shaughnessy ended up being preemie, though, breast milk is one of the best things for her and I can certainly oblige. It turns out that producing breast milk is a crazy skill I have. It's like, effortless for me. When the lactation consultant came to talk to me in the hospital I was in the middle of pumping and quit early so I could chat with her. She did a total double-take when she saw the amount I'd already pumped and was all, "Is that the volume you usually produce?" I was like, no, I usually get more. She was impressed. My boobs; they are enthusiastic. Which is awesome, because as much as I HAAAAATE to pump it's extremely gratifying to feel like I'm doing something so directly beneficial and mother-like for my daughter.
Even though breast-feeding in itself is also a procedure that limits your movement and takes up time I can only look forward to it as a great improvement as I'll actually be holding my daughter and bonding with her, able to look down at her and into her eyes and interact with her. I won't be hooked up to a happy yellow robot that doesn't want to bite me and pull my hair.
Now that I'm out of the hospital and back home I'm spending most of my time pumping breast milk, preparing to pump breast milk or figuring out when to next pump breast milk. I HATE pumping breast milk. Really, really do. It's so detached and impersonal to sit there attached by the boobs to a machine for twenty minutes at a time and stare into space while waiting for it to end. The type of breast pump the hospital sends you home with is called a double electric, meaning you pump both boobs at once with great, electricity-fueled force. This is nice and efficient, yes, but also extremely limiting as you have to hold the contraption in place with your hands. So I sit there, like a bored dairy cow, and stare around while enduring the least sexy form of nipple torture ever.
The cats are intrigued, of course. Mong sits a small distance away and just watches kind of askance, not really approving of the process. Shelley, unsurprisingly, is much more scientifically interested in the whole thing and wants to get right in my lap and watch up close. Because my range of movement is extremely limited I am reduced to doing a kind of chicken wing flap with my occupied arms to try to dissuade him, or draw one knee up to make my lap less inviting. He is not easily dissuaded and will eventually park himself up against my leg if he can't get in my lap, watching in a very intent and discomfiting manner what is going on with my poor, poor nipples.
Nipples, nipples, nipples. I never really thought I'd end up talking much about one of my MOST PRIVATE body parts in this blog because I wasn't planning to breastfeed. Since Shaughnessy ended up being preemie, though, breast milk is one of the best things for her and I can certainly oblige. It turns out that producing breast milk is a crazy skill I have. It's like, effortless for me. When the lactation consultant came to talk to me in the hospital I was in the middle of pumping and quit early so I could chat with her. She did a total double-take when she saw the amount I'd already pumped and was all, "Is that the volume you usually produce?" I was like, no, I usually get more. She was impressed. My boobs; they are enthusiastic. Which is awesome, because as much as I HAAAAATE to pump it's extremely gratifying to feel like I'm doing something so directly beneficial and mother-like for my daughter.
Even though breast-feeding in itself is also a procedure that limits your movement and takes up time I can only look forward to it as a great improvement as I'll actually be holding my daughter and bonding with her, able to look down at her and into her eyes and interact with her. I won't be hooked up to a happy yellow robot that doesn't want to bite me and pull my hair.
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